


But Bosmer Don't Get Sick!

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [19]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryndoril, resistant to disease though he is, catches a cold. Ondolemar takes care of him. An excuse for fluff, nothing more, really. Future!Ryndolemar fic - set in the far-off land of fluff and happy-ever-after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Bosmer Don't Get Sick!

“I am not sick,” Ryndoril protested crankily, a hearty sniffle following the phrase. He had tried to get out of bed, but found himself in misery that morning.

“Of course you aren't,” Ondolemar replied, rolling his eyes. “That's why you can't speak properly...and sound like that,” he added dryly as Ryndoril went into a coughing fit.

“Bosmers don't get sick,” Ryndoril said pitifully, and Ondolemar chuckled softly, tucking the blankets around his lover. “We're immune.”

“You are _resistant_ to diseases, not immune to them,” Ondolemar reminded him. “And Bosmer is its own plural.”

“Are you really correcting me when I'm dying?” Ryndoril sniffled, and Ondolemar just smiled, placing his hand on Ryndoril's forehead.

“You're hardly dying,” Ondolemar told him. “Of all people, I never expected _you_ to be this overdramatic about a simple cold.”

“I told you, I'm not supposed to get sick,” Ryndoril said, though he sighed with pleasure as Ondolemar's hand turned chilly on his burning-hot forehead. “Thanks, love,” he murmured.

“Just rest, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly. “I'll take care of you.” Ryndoril managed a small smile as he closed his eyes.

“My throat hurts,” he whined anyway. “This is stupid.” Ondolemar shook his head; this was by far the most miserable he'd ever seen the Bosmer, even with all they'd been through.

“I'm sorry,” Ondolemar said. “Here.” He pressed his fingers to Ryndoril's throat and let healing magic flow through them; the sick elf breathed a sigh of relief.

“You're wonderful,” Ryndoril said softly. Ondolemar kissed his forehead, making him smile. “So nice to me.”

“It's hard not to be, when you're being so pathetic,” Ondolemar teased, rubbing Ryndoril's arm. He had to admit he was amused at the elf's behavior, even if he did feel badly for him.

“You shouldn't make fun of me,” Ryndoril complained. “It's not fair.”

“Sorry, love,” Ondolemar grinned. “I'll stop. I love you. Feel better, my Ryn.” Ryndoril smiled slightly again, relaxing into Ondolemar's cooling touch.

*****

When Ryndoril awoke later, he could swear he was feeling worse. He was burning up, and Ondolemar wasn't next to him.

“Ondol-ugh,” he said, starting to call for his lover but realizing quickly that it was painful. The mer's healing spell had worn off. Well, he wasn't going to just lay there and be useless. He'd at least get up and look for his healing potions.

“How are you feeling?” Ondolemar asked, seeing him come out of the bedroom. The Altmer was standing by the cooking pot, stirring something. “Rest well?”

“Miserable,” Ryndoril managed, his voice thick and scratchy. “What are you doing?”

“I am making you soup,” Ondolemar said his cheeks reddening slightly. “I...well, it's supposed to help.” Ryndoril couldn't help smiling.

“Thanks, love,” he replied. “But I'm just going to get one of my healing potions. I don't know why I didn't think about it earlier.” Ondolemar shook his head.

“Those won't work on a cold, my dear alchemist,” he told the elf. “You ought to know that.”

“Why not?” Ryndoril asked, a note of petulance in his voice. “They heal, don't they?”

“They heal injuries,” Ondolemar smiled. “You can't heal away an illness like that.”

“Then a curing potion,” Ryndoril argued. Ondolemar shook his head, and Ryndoril narrowed his eyes at him. “How do you suddenly know so much about alchemy?” He started coughing them, groaning at the end from the way it hurt his throat.

“Easy, Ryn,” Ondolemar said, coming over and putting a healing spell on his throat again. “I still don't know anything about alchemy, but I know plenty about how potions work. You don't think I only read that ridiculous Argonian maid book you found, do you?” Ryndoril snorted, causing him to sneeze, and Ondolemar let out a sympathetic chuckle. “I'm sorry to tell you, you're just going to have to wait it out. The best your potions would do is lessen the symptoms, no better than my magic.”

“You just like seeing me miserable,” Ryndoril said. Ondolemar kissed his head again, hugging him close for a moment.

“Not in the slightest,” he informed the smaller elf. “If it could be fixed, I would fix it in a second. Though I won't deny it's amusing how badly this is affecting you.”

“Just wait until you catch it,” Ryndoril said as severely as he could manage, which wasn't very severe at all. “See how you take it.”

“I've had colds before,” Ondolemar smiled sympathetically. “I know they aren't pleasant. I'm sorry.” He held Ryndoril for a moment longer, then let him go. “Get back to bed. I'll bring you something to eat soon.”

“But I'm lonely in there without you,” Ryndoril complained, though he headed back to the bedroom anyway.

“I'll be right in, I promise,” Ondolemar said, trying to keep from laughing at all. It really wasn't fair; the poor Bosmer was quite sick, and clearly hadn't experienced this before. He was determined, though, that he'd do everything in his power to help the elf get better. He always thought it strange how Ryndoril brought out a nurturing side that he'd never known he possessed, but the smaller elf certainly never complained.

He brought a bowl full of the soup in to the bedroom, letting Ryndoril start eating while he filled a mug with water for the elf.

“Gods, this is amazing,” Ryndoril said gratefully. “Thank you, love.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said simply, setting the water down on the night table by the bed before sitting at Ryndoril's feet. “Does it help?”

“A bit, yeah,” Ryndoril said with a smile. “It doesn't hurt as much.”

“Good,” Ondolemar nodded, placing a hand on the elf's foot just to be able to touch him. “If it helps, I imagine your Bosmer blood will keep this from dragging on too long, even if you did catch it to begin with.” 

“I would hope so,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Can you believe I've never been sick like this before in my life?”

“Well, I'm sorry you broke your record,” Ondolemar smiled. “But we live so long, it's not surprising it would eventually get you.”

“I still don't understand how you suddenly know so much about being sick,” Ryndoril grumbled between bites.

“I told you, I read,” Ondolemar reminded him. “There is much to study in this world, and it fascinates me. In any case, my healing magic wouldn't be much good if I didn't know how and when to apply it, would it?”

“I guess so,” Ryndoril admitted. “I just didn't realize you studied so much, I guess.”

“I learn quickly,” Ondolemar shrugged. “And just because _you_ had no cause to learn how to treat a cold, doesn't mean the rest of us don't,” he added with a smirk.

“You've been sick like this before?” Ryndoril asked.

“A few times,” Ondolemar nodded. “You'll be better soon.”

“And you'll stay with me?” Ryndoril asked hopefully, finishing off his soup. Ondolemar smiled at him.

“Of course I will, my Ryn,” he replied. “Would you like more?”

“Nah,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. He already felt sleepy again. “I just want to go back to sleep.”

“Then you should,” Ondolemar said, getting up and taking Ryndoril's bowl.

“I thought you weren't leaving me?” Ryndoril pouted, and Ondolemar chuckled at the petulance in his voice.

“I'll be right back,” Ondolemar promised him. Ryndoril huffed, but settled back into the bed. Ondolemar returned quickly, lying in the bed next to his elf.

“Do that cooling thing again,” Ryndoril requested, his eyes already closed. Ondolemar smiled and complied, cooling his hands with a weak frost spell and placing them on Ryndoril's face. “Ahh,” he sighed. “I love you.”

“You love my magic,” Ondolemar snorted with a grin.

“That, too,” Ryndoril agreed with a small smile.

“Just rest, my love,” Ondolemar said softly, and he moved one hand to stroke the Bosmer's hair. Knowing it would help relax the sick elf, he began to hum a lullaby – it was one his mother used to sing to him, and Ryndoril had expressed his enjoyment of it several times before. The Altmer hummed until his lover was asleep, doing his best to make him comfortable.


End file.
